A Prologue to 'The Crucible': Abigail's Story
by discombobulated diva
Summary: This is my first story I've submitted onto fanfiction, so I'd be really interested to see what people think of it- please rate it. I felt that Abigail has a lot of past that hasn't been fully written about so I expanded upon that, and here it is:
1. Chapter 1

Abigail's Story

Abigail perched carefully on a rickety wooden stool in the corner of her room, waiting expectantly for her father's return from work. She knew little about his occupation, although, whatever it was, it was a matter of great interest to her, mainly due to his reluctance to tell her about it.

The front door burst open, and through it entered a tall, dark haired and rather handsome-looking man. He was carrying a large turkey along with a bundle of firewood, and looking particularly pleased with himself, on seeing Abigail's stern expression, Mr Williams' broad grin faded.

"Father", Abigail exclaimed, "you forgot. You forgot all about it, yet you walk through that door with a smirk on your face as if nothin' happened."

"I'm sorry Abby, but it seems that there's just no reasoning with that chap; Proctor has chosen Susanna for his service, and I'm afraid it's final, besides, you know we can't go back to Salem."

"Why?" Abigail demanded, her nostrils flaring in anger.

"I can't tell you, Abby; you're too young to understand"

"Try me," Abigail challenged, but she knew it was no use. There were many things that Abigail did not know about her parents- not just their occupation, and Mr Williams was not about to let it slip. Not without good reason.

It had not occurred to Mr and Goody Williams that Abigail might, contrary to their authority as her parents, leave in pursuit of an explanation that they would not give her: the reason why they were secretly adamant that she would not work for the Proctors; the reason why she was forced to live an isolated life, but above all, the reason why they would not confide any of this with her. Abigail's parents believed that she was an honest and trustworthy girl; they did not think that she would lie to them or concoct schemes behind their backs. Normally, Abigail would have felt guilty for betraying their trust, but if they did not trust her enough to confide in her, could she really trust them anyway?

After contemplating for a while upon this thought, Abigail had made up her mind: she was going to find out the truth. All she had to do now was to wait for the opportune moment to leave the house without her parents' knowledge. She would have to be patient though- she could not afford to risk failure. She knew that if she was caught, she would not get a second chance; her parents would be extra careful to not allow her another opportunity to begin her little expedition.

It was getting late, so Abigail decided to go to bed. As she lay on the itchy, straw mattress, she began to ponder upon her plans and the conversation she had had earlier on with her father, wondering what possible explanation her parents could have for choosing to conceal the truth from her. Abigail was wrestles, tossing and turning on the lumpy mattress for hours- she was too agitated to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The restless Abigail leapt out of bed. There was no point wasting an opportunity like this: both her parents were fast asleep and her father had recently come home with a huge supply of food so she'd have plenty for the journey. It was almost too good to be true. She quickly pulled on her leather boots, picked up some supplies and ventured out into the mist.

Abigail headed east, her fiery hair flailing in the angry autumn wind, and the persistent darkness continuing to loom over her, but this would not deter her. Nothing would. Except...where was she going? Would she even make it to Salem? She had expected to just know the way though it had been a year since she had last set foot in the place. Despite this, she was not about to head back; she didn't want to live like a hermit even if her parents did. It was this thought that kept her marching on through the choking fog.

After a few hours the sun began to rise up over the misty mountains on the horizon, expelling the darkness, and the eerie gloom that lingered with it, from the clearing that lay before her. In daylight it was a completely different place, but was it safer? Not necessarily. Through the forest, Abigail could just make out fine clouds of smoke, winding through the tree-tops. A trill of high pitched yells shook the land. What was this? Who could be doing this? Then it struck her: "Indians!" She gasped, and turned to find herself face to face with one of them.

His dark face was lined and crinkled with intense disapproval and his narrow, ebony eyes stung her with their sharp glare. She was doomed and she knew it. She had heard about the Indians; their brutal and savage ways tormented her mind whenever she had allowed her eyes to shut, and now she found herself having to face a whole tribe of them- alone.

Her frantic little heart pounded violently as if it were in some futile attempt to release itself from her doomed body. The shock overwhelmed her system. Never before had she been so paralysed in the face of peril: her rigid muscles refused to budge. Already weak from hunger and now strained from shock, the frail Abigail collapsed in a heap on the ground.


	3. Chapter 3

Abigail slowly regained consciousness as the coloured smudges in her vision began to form shapes, images and eventually her new surroundings which she instantly realised were unfamiliar. Carefully she sat up to examine them more closely. There stood in front of her was John Proctor- a man she felt certain that she would never see again. His eyes glittered with a boyish charm as he gazed lovingly down at her. It had been a long while since the two of them last met and each had bitterly missed the other.

"John," Abigail whispered.

"Yes," Proctor answered, "I'm here now."

"But...but how did you find me?"

"I was in the area collecting firewood and I saw you there...motionless on the ground."

"What about the Indians?"

"Abby," John paused, "I didn't see no Indians, I should have known though: you have an increasing appetite for danger."

"I'm fine John, and I always will be as long as I have my big, brave protector here to help me."

"I won't always be here...and what's more, you shouldn't be."

"Are you trying to say that you don't want me?" Abigail sobbed.

"No, I'm trying to say only that you _shouldn't_ be here, not that I'm not glad that you are." A smile appeared on Proctor's face to comfort Abigail. He then lifted her chin with his finger and planted a kiss upon her lips.


	4. Chapter 4

Mrs Williams awoke with a startle, her bedraggled hair tied in knots and beads of sweat trickling down her wearied face. It had been a long night for her, and the proceeding day would be even longer. Mrs Williams' intuition was second to none; she was known by many as the insightful one, and right then Mrs Williams' intuition was telling her that something was wrong. Without hesitation, she hurried into her daughter's room in a fruitless effort to prove to herself that she was mistaken.

Just as she had feared, Mrs Williams arrived at an empty bed. Tears swelling up in her eyes, she collapsed on top of it, wishing as hard as she could that she had not kept secrets from Abigail. Though she knew that no wish however hard could put right this wrong, her tearful heart knew no reason. Pulling herself together, Mrs Williams sat up and started to wipe the tears away from under her eyes. Within moments of this she was out in the choking fog searching desperately for her daughter.

Hours of relentless searching seemed to get the desperate mother nowhere; not only was she lost but also weak and miserable. Her infinite sorrow was crushing her to point of madness though she persisted in searching, not because she had the tiniest glimmer of hope left, but because she knew that she would not settle unless she did. On she went through the mysterious moors, barely awake- barely even alive, for the unbearable sorrow had rendered her numb. Reality had become a distant blur, far too painful and far too remote to touch. Her expression was vacant and her skin a deathly white. Both were external signs of what she had become inside: a mindless zombie.

Far in the distance something caught Mrs Williams' eye; it was Abigail's red ribbon from her hair surrounded by bare footprints (she could tell that they were Indian). It was not much but it was enough for her to realise that the Indians had killed Abigail. Mr and Mrs Williams had worked alongside the Indians for a long while without ever completely trusting them. They had always thought of the Indians as primitive and savage so the sought to protect Abigail from their vile ways, but it seemed to have all been in vain. Mechanically, Mrs Williams set back to break the bad news to her husband.


End file.
